A Courtesan and her Poet
by BohemianTwinkle
Summary: jealousy could never poison an innocent bohemian writer. Never, never.


A/N: I've been waiting to post this for ages, but I wanted to wait until Australia Day (for some weird reason) HAPPY BDAY AUSTRALIA. Damn I love my country. I'm very patriotic at the moment. Anyway, this fic is the moment when Christian is walking down the road and passed the gothic tower etc etc, I've put a twist on that that would throw the whole movie in a different direction. *Note* weird abstract violence/emotional unbalances ahead - I got told to say that because apparently I didn't once and got told off for it. So, just being safe

I'd also like to dedicate this piece, to Cinna - your reviews have kept me writing, honestly your beautiful kind words telling me to keep writing mean the world - you're an angel. 

Also one last thing - I'm going off from MR fanfic for a while, heading to fictionpress because I can't think of anymore MR to write (as soon as I finish this, I bet I'll write something - it's reverse psychology on my muses. *devious grin*) 

*!*

A courtesan and a poet; not the pairing you'd think of immediately, but that's what stories are about aren't they? Things and people you wouldn't think of. This story is about the ruin of the beautiful Courtesan and her penniless Poet.

_Don't defy the likes of the feelings,_

_That turn a red heart black_

_Remember what your mother told you,_

_That **jealousy** can poison even the most innocent of souls_

It was an hour after midnight; stars twinkled somewhat secretly in the sky as though they knew something the rest of the world did not. The moon was not smiling down upon the infamous kingdom of night time pleasures but frowning slightly and shedding a lone, pearly tear. 

The Penniless Poet walked stiffly through the courtyard, letting his feet lead him on as his mind was far too enraged with jealousy to know where to go. His lover, the Courtesan had gone to the Gothic Tower, gone to save them all. What a way to avert disaster - sleep with the villain and all will be all right. 

If it weren't for the hideous face of jealousy and the burning breath of pain, the Penniless Poet may have thought twice about his course of action, he may have turned away from the black path that was laid out before him. He was warned; he was warned the jealousy would drive him mad. He didn't believe it - jealousy could never poison an innocent bohemian writer. Never, never. 

_Curiosity kills the cat,_

_While gluttony kills the pig_

_Remember what your father told you,_

_That **envy** can be murder_

The wind was cold; cold and cruel like the blades of a thousand swordsmen howling and thrusting forward their weapons in a wave, never a gentle breeze when the venomous hands of betrayal entwine its fingers through the air - betrayal that's not really there, that's not really committed and therefore making the venom all the more potent. 

The Penniless Poet's soft footsteps clapped on the cobblestone road; click, click, click in the thick silence, far away from the tango in the dancehall. He felt his heart tear and split a little more with each clicking of his shoes; soon, when he's walked far enough his heart will be fully burst and broken. Such an awful price for him to pay while his lover saves him, along with the rest of the Moulin Rouge sinners. 

Could you blame him? How many others would've continued down the black path? The merciless dark path, with a gun hanging from a star and a moon flecked with blood. Jealousy lures its victims down the gloomy trail, licking its lips in anticipation of the inevitable bloodshed. Surely not, though, could jealousy engulf a very strange enchanted boy so easily? No, no. 

_A fire grows when fuel is added,_

_As does madness, given more hallucinations_

_Remember what your brother told you,_

_That **suspicion** feeds on your disappointment_

How does one find his or herself with a weapon? Is it a gift from a deadly source, just placed magically in the hands of an unbalanced soul? Or perhaps the result of an order of events taken place and forgotten from all memory later, knowing only that one possesses a contraption with the ability to harm, or kill. 

The Penniless Poet pulled the gun that hung from a silver star, it felt so heavy and ill fitting in his hands. He didn't dare look at it; the sight of himself holding a weapon would damage his innocent eyes, the feel of it alone sends shivers through his veins. Such a bittersweet tragedy, his lover in the tower could never have known what was coming. 

Nothing can prevent disaster unfurling, when one steps down the dark path laid out craftily by jealousy. The moon cried more pearly tears as the storm clouds gathered, releasing flashes of lightening and furious roars of thunder. The stars turned their faces away, suddenly afraid of the figure walking closer and closer to the Gothic Tower. It couldn't be true; jealousy couldn't have hold of the writer? Never, Never, No, No.

_When a storm breaks in the Underworld,_

_May God have mercy on the sinners_

_Remember what your sister told you_

_That **possession** leaves no soul free_

The Courtesan and the Maharaja stood on the balcony leading out from the interior of the Gothic Tower; unfortunately oblivious to the poet who was walking down the road, clutching something black in his hand. Thunder cracked and bellowed, blocking out the sounds of the tango and it's hidden warning; jealousy _will_ drive you mad. 

Funny how one can move so fast in moments of madness. The Penniless Poet stopped below the window of the Tower and looked up, with a frightening look in his eyes, from his lover to the villain and felt two shades of pain at once. There was a flick of his finger followed by a deafening sound and one of his sources of pain fell to the ground. A sickening truth followed - jealousy was triumphant. 

The Courtesan looked from her lover standing in the street below; a newly fired gun in his hand, to the dead Maharaja at her feet with a hand still wrapped loosely around the material of her dress, to the flecks of blood on her palms. Her world collapsed around her in slow motion; there would be no more dancing, no more acting, no more bright lights and colourful costumes, no more diamonds, no more dreams of becoming the next Great Sara. Her lover had ruined everything, including himself. 

His eyes were losing their sinister colour, as he began to feel the weight of the weapon in his hand. He looked up at his lover then to the space where the Maharaja once stood and his breath caught in his throat; the whole world fell from around him. There would be no more poetry readings, starlight dances, secret songs or promises. Now there would only be time to run. 

_The innocent and guilty run together_

_Because they're bound by love_

_Remember all the forms of jealousy_

_Can turn the most innocent into a **villain**_

A courtesan and a poet are not the pairing you're most likely to think of, because their story always ends **bad.**


End file.
